


He Looks Like Someone

by justafanficin2k21



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A happy ending for Severus Snape, Because I am not comfortable enough with it, F/M, Forgive Me, I am so white, In which Jamaican characters do not speak Patois, Jamaica Sev, Obeah, Severus Snape Lives, or does he?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:49:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29606232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justafanficin2k21/pseuds/justafanficin2k21
Summary: There's a white man who lives in Saint Elizabeth Parish with a scar on a neck.
Relationships: Severus Snape/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	He Looks Like Someone

**Author's Note:**

> There's a lot to say here, and it's mostly a rant about how I tried to incorporate Obeah into the magical world without appropriating it, but maybe I did, and if so I'm sorry. Also, I'm sorry that the Jamaican characters aren't speaking Patois. 
> 
> Also, Severus Snape deserved better.
> 
> I imagine Esther as Grace Jones.

_ Jamaica 2021 _

There's a white man in Saint Elizabeth Parrish with a scar on his neck, and his left-hand tremors sometimes. His long black hair is graying, and the years of living in the sun and salt air have turned his once-pale face leathery and ruddy, and his accent tells tourists and locals that he isn't from around here. (Well, that and his complete lack of melanin.) His hooked nose and crooked teeth in addition to his stern demeanor used to make local children afraid of him. That’s faded with time.

He looks like someone, favors someone you knew, someone who was in _The Daily Prophet_ twenty years ago, but you don't remember why. Except ... his shoulders are relaxed, and he smiles sometimes, and it's a posture you don't recognize. 

And besides, he goes by Robert Konadu. That's not a name you know. (It's weird, right? He took his wife's last name. Is that a Jamaican thing?) Except, you know, the Konadu Family is world-renowned for their Obeah practice and shop, and her family name is crucial to her brand. But what was his name before? Richards? Archer? It had two Rs, right?

And when he speaks, he has a little bit of an English Midlands accent. It comes and goes, coming moreso when Esther and he have been drinking.

Muggle trust fund hipsters come from all over to see their artisan micro-sugarcane farm. Really, it's just a cover for Konadu's Potions, Reliquaries, and Curse Cancellations LLC. "Always have multiple income sources," Abigya Konadu told her daughter.

He's got a bit of paunch too. It's a body you definitely don't really recognize. But those black eyes glittering in the sun spark recognition in your brain, and it's almost like deja vu.

~

He crosses his arms as he argues with his wife. His eyes narrow, sizing up Esther Konadu, the Great Priestess of Obeah. Tension covers his body like armor, and his face has darkened. And maybe ... is that ... ?

"If you slice them length-wise, the veins remain intact and you don't get the full effect of the juice! That’s why the activation period is so short!"

"Are you telling me, the Great Priestess of Obeah, the daughter of the  _ Irie _ Abigya Konadu, _how to prep marshmallow root_?!"

It can't be Severus Snape. He died in the Shrieking Shack some twenty years ago. (Didn't he?)

The argument is interrupted by their daughter Charity dashing into the room, a sweet if impish smile on her face. Named after a friend, they said. (And if it was Severus Snape, wouldn't she be named Lily? As if Esther Konadu would have allowed that.) "Papa, will you braid my hair before church tomorrow?"

His face softens again, and you feel silly for even considering that you might know this man from a long time ago. Esther scoffs.

"Mama does it too rough," Charity explains with a childish laugh.

"You braid like a white man," Esther tells her husband, barely hiding her jealousy. 

"You braid like a hellcat," he shoots back.

"Get back to work, you useless  _ mawga butu _ !" Damn him, he is getting better at braiding, even with the tremor in his hand. And Esther knows that despite her best efforts to restrain herself, she's going to fuck that man until he apologizes tonight for telling her how to prepare her own potions. Bastard. He always provokes her.

He smirks, and his black eyes sparkle. He isn't quite as  _ mawga _ as he was when they met. There's an accumulation of fat in his middle, though his limbs have remained thin. Probably the twenty years of his mother-in-law’s grizzada and homemade rum.

Robert has adapted well to the tremor (and maybe some paralysis?) in his left hand. He chops and dices and magics his ingredients for a vision-enhancing potion. Esther and Robert created it together. (Isn't that how they fell in love?)

~

He casts a Patronus to tell the twins it's time to come home. (He blames the twins for his gray hair. Why are twins always like  _ that _ ?) And the translucent fox finds them by the Black River, telling them in their father's voice, "Dinner is ready. I expect you home in ten minutes."

And that voice ... you know that voice. Deep and soft, but that accent keeps appearing, and it throws you off a little bit? Is it a little ... Brummie? Maybe? No, no, you can’t quite place it.

Where is Robert from anyway? Does anyone know?

He's grateful that his children take after their mother, dark-skinned and West African features. It bothers the twins that their skin is lighter than Charity's and Maven's, though. Robert is just grateful that none of them inherited his nose.

~

Evening comes. Robert braids Charity's hair while Esther watches with disdain, and they discuss where she might go to school when she turns 11. Castelobruxo is a wonderful school, but Esther worries about the language barriers. Their oldest son Maven struggled with it his first year. Robert distrusts Ilvermorny, as their Dark Arts program is quite lacking, and they cheat at the Wizarding Schools Potions Championship. And when Charity mentions Hogwarts, Esther and Robert tell her absolutely not. 

Does Robert look ... worried? He pales, and his shoulders and jaw tighten. That familiar scowl washes over his face again. (But that can't be Severus Snape, because they buried the body, didn't they? Isn't there a simple gravestone somewhere in Cokeworth that reads 'S. Snape (1960-1998)'?)

In an unusually comforting move, Esther winks at him, shaking her head once. No, their daughter absolutely wouldn't attend Hogwarts. 

(But why?)

He softens again. He hums as he braids.

"It's going to fall out," Esther says of Charity's braids. "They aren't tight enough. You don't do them tight enough."

~

He sighs as Esther returns to bed, both of them still reeling from post-argument sex. They don't have make-up sex. They don't make up. It works for them.

His weaker hand reaches for hers before she can fully settle beneath the blankets. She gives it a squeeze.

"Contraceptive measures?" he asks as sleepiness sets in. 

"I'm 65," Esther snaps. 

He chuckles, and it's a happy sort of sound, one that Severus Snape could never produce. It comes from somewhere deep in the heart, a content, secure place, and that's not something that Severus Snape could ever be. Right?

"Yes, well, that's how we wound up with Charity."

Esther waves her hand, and the lights go out in the bedroom. Obeah practitioners rarely need wands. 

"She won't go to Hogwarts," Esther says softly. “That’s a promise.”

There's a pause, and her husband rolls onto his side towards her, resting his temple on her shoulder. It's a soft, tender moment between them, a rarity indeed. 

"Thank you," he says softly.

Esther smiles into the darkness. " _ Magwa butu _ ." An insulting pet name, one that's not entirely true anymore, but one that stuck.

"Bitch."

She laughs. She pinches his bare belly beneath their sheets. "Cut back on the grizzada."

He bats her hand away, growling. 

~

There's a white man who lives in Saint Elizabeth Parish, who runs an Obeah shop and a micro-sugarcane farm with his wife. The locals don't hate him like they once did, and Esther hexes anyone who insults her husband or her biracial children. 

He has a hooked nose, black, glittering eyes, a nebulous British accent. And sometimes people think they recognize him. He looks like someone they knew of or read about once. 

But it can't be Severus Snape because his Patronus was a doe. Robert Konadu's Patronus is a fox. And Esther Konadu would never marry someone who didn't love her above all else. And hadn't Severus Snape said, "Always," regarding his affection for Lily Potter? It can't be Severus Snape because Robert Konadu is a content man, one who laughs and fawns over his children, even the wild twins he suspects are non-magical. 

And really, would Severus Snape ever have learned to braid his daughter’s hair? Doubtful. Would Severus Snape allow himself to be dragged to church every Sunday? No. (Except ... there's forgiveness there. Sins washed away. Rebirth.)

He can't be Severus Snape because he died in the Shrieking Shack 23 years ago. 

Didn't he?


End file.
